


I had all and then most of you (Some and now none of you): A 'Bone Dry' Prelude

by Dividedpoet



Series: Throw me a lifeline ('Cause honey I got nothing to lose): The Ballad of Bone Dry [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Humor, Lawyer Steve Rogers, M/M, Prelude, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-01-10 12:50:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12299589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dividedpoet/pseuds/Dividedpoet
Summary: Pietro arches an eyebrow at him. “Tired old man? Should we pump you full of caffeine?” he asks through a mouthful of food.Contemplating powering through, Steve knows the reason Pietro couldn't find coffee earlier is because he doesn't have any. As if hearing his thoughts, Pietro stares at him with an arched eyebrow. Finally Steve relents. “Yeah, we should probably just head over to Buck’s,” he says.Pietro raises an eyebrow. “‘Boned’?” he asks flatly.Rolling his eyes, Steve corrects him, “‘Bone Dry’.”“Why the fuck would he call it that?” he asks.Blinking slowly at Pietro a few times, Steve pauses to collect his thoughts before answering. “Because, ‘The Government Mutilated My Body and Turned Me Into a Killing Machine’ was too long to fit on his tax forms,” he says.Pietro nods. “That’s a good reason,” and there’s no hint of irony anywhere in his voice. When he cracks a half smile Steve let's out a bark of laughter. The kid’s quick, he’ll give him that.A Prelude to my Bucky/Darcy Coffee Shop AU.





	1. Potential

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Hello there! I'm so sorry, again, for dragging this out! I've decided once more that I need to start posting or I'm never gonna finish this. SO HERE IT IS! My Pietro Maximoff/Steve Rogers Prelude. Additionally, I beg you to remember that a prelude serves as an introduction to something important. ;-)
> 
> These chapters were half-beta'd by TeaAndTricks. Once more, that means she beta'd everything at the time she saw it but not since I've added stuff. So all mistakes are mine! I'll update as that's updated!
> 
> I'm gonna start with two chapters to get the ball rolling. The first chapter starts in Bucky's POV because that's what the story has been in up until now. But it switches over to Steve and will remain in Steve's for the foreseeable future. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this!
> 
> Title is from "The Night We Met" by Lord Huron

**\- Bucky -**

The first time Pietro Maximoff comes into ‘Bone Dry’, Bucky is twenty-six and finally getting his shit together. The shop has been open for a year and he hasn’t blacked out once in that time. This may not sound like a feat, but it truly is.

One evening his friend Steve walks in with a death grip on an almost fashionably disgusting backpack and a kid in tow that looks pissed as hell. Bucky imagines those two things are linked.

"‘Bone Dry’, sounds like I'm about to be an extra in some fetish porn," the kid snaps at Steve and woah is his accent thick.

Steve sighs, nice and long suffered. "Will you just go sit down," he points to a booth along the wall. "Your sister said she'd be here in ten minutes." With that he walks over to the register, seemingly heedless of whether or not his instructions are followed.

"If that's how you treat all your clients we may need to look into getting you retrained," Bucky quips, turning to pour Steve his usual.

"I've been chasing him around the city for a week. All I want to do is throw this thing at him," Steve groans, shaking the backpack at Bucky. But it's Steve and there is absolutely no malice behind it. 

Bucky arches an eyebrow. "You're not a bounty hunter, pal. It's not your job to chase them down," he comments, handing Steve his drink.

Steve glances back at the kid. "Tell that to his sister. She's been so worried about him since he was discharged. He's been a mess. Twenty-two years old, one tour, and starting fights in bars." He takes a sip of his coffee, breathing out contentedly. "I'm pretty sure I'm sixty-five percent law books, twenty-five percent coffee, and ten percent human these days."

Bucky frowns. "That balance seems off," he says

Snorting, Steve shakes his head, "Nah." The bell over the door jingles then and a waify woman walks in. She’s pale and dark and small and long all at the same time. Steve glances over his shoulder at first but when he catches sight of her he spins around. "Wanda," he says, stepping toward her.

Eyes already fasten on the backpack in Steve's hand, it’s merely a moment before Wanda’s directing them around the shop. They land on the kid and she seems to sag with relief.

"You found him," Wanda breathes, accent just as thick. She gives Steve a pressed smile. "Thank you," she says.

Nodding, Steve hands her the backpack. "Yes, ma'am," he says, eyes also drifting over. "But you know..." he begins carefully. "If he misses another court appearance, they'll set his bail too high. He'll have to stay in county until his hearing." 

Wanda nods. "I know. For this, I have a proposition." Steve starts shifting back and forth, the telltale sign someone is about to ask him for a huge favor that he is going to feel obligated to accept. "The appearance is in just a week, yes?" she asks. Steve nods slowly. "Perhaps - Perhaps he could stay with you?" Steve begins shaking his head then, which honestly surprises Bucky though he can't blame him. Wanda continues on quickly. "He won't listen to me. He slips out before I can catch him, I can never find him, and on the off chance I do he _still_ won't come home with me. I don't know what to do," she says, clearly trying to fight down panic.

The bell above the door rings signalling customers and Steve pulls Wanda off to the side, making Bucky's spying significantly more difficult. Not impossible, but difficult. "You wanna keep him from running," Steve hisses to Wanda as Bucky takes orders, an ear and an eye on their conversation the whole time. Steve takes hold of the backpack in her hands. "Keep this away from him. He won't leave it behind," he says.

Wanda shakes her head. "You think I haven’t tried? He always finds it while I'm asleep. Please, Mr. Rogers. He listens to you. I don't know what to do," and the girl looks damn near tears.

Always a sucker for a crying dame, Steve sighs. "Fine. He can stay in my guestroom until the next hearing." He looks over at the kid. "Hopefully with him there I can get them to drop the charges."

While it’s still tight, a smile stretches across Wanda’s face a little further. “Thank you, Mr. Rogers.”

They walk back to the kid, who has decided to make designs on the table with salt and pepper. Bucky resists the urge to go smash the salt and pepper shakers over his head. The way Wanda walks up to the table he is pretty sure the kid will be sore enough.

"Pietro!" she snaps, glancing over at Bucky who spares her a wave. She shakes her head and what comes out of her mouth next when she looks back at Pietro surprises him. It is Romanian and furious. Something about respect and...cats? No, that word is clean maybe? Bucky doesn't speak Romanian, but it's close enough to Russian that he can pick out a few words here and there. Which he still can't explain, by the way. He didn't used to speak Russian.

The kid, Pietro, rolls his eyes and sweeps the grainy mess into his hand at the end of the table before dropping it in an empty cup. "Calm down, little sister," he says. Wanda hits him in the back of the head. "Hey!" Pietro rubs at the spot. "Can we go home now?"

"You ran away from 'home', big brother," Wanda says, lips pressed together again. "I can't keep doing this. Next time they're going to keep you when they catch you. I won't be able to bail you out." She sighs. "You're going to stay with Mr. Rogers until your hea - "

"What?!" Pietro explodes. Bucky tenses behind the counter, seeing Steve do the same.

Wanda shakes her head. "You won't listen to me and if you miss another hearing they're going to lock you up." She points to Steve. "You listen to him."

"No, he steals my shit and I follow him like a fucking puppy," Pietro snaps, glaring at Steve.

"That's kind of what I've been saying," Steve comments.

Wanda doesn't reply for a moment then turns and shoves the backpack she is holding back at Steve. "Well, fetch," she sighs before spinning on her heel and heading for the door.

Pietro looks between Steve, holding his only belongings, and Wanda, walking away. "Are you serious?" he calls after her. Wanda walks out of the shop without looking back. 

Steve sighs and runs a hand over his face. "You want a cup of coffee?" he asks.

Pietro narrows his eyes. "You have got to be kidding me," he growls.

Steve shakes his head. "Right," he says before walking away as well. He stops in front of Bucky. "Could I get a coffee enjoyed by the sullen youth?" he quips. 

Bucky nodded. "Can do," he says, turning around to pour a sugary concoction. “What’s his deal?" Bucky casually asks as he brings the mocha to the counter.

Steve shakes his head. "His deal is fighting with unarmed strangers in bars while completely sober," he says.

Bucky nods. "Cool, anger problems. Vodka will not help that.” Suddenly he points behind Steve. “Hey,” he says as Steve turns around. Pietro is walking out of the shop.

Steve sighs, “I'll see you later.” Bucky nods and Steve leaves to go after him sans coffees.

**\- Steve -**

Steve catches up to Pietro half a block from the shop. He takes up pace just behind the younger man's angry strides.

Before he can open his mouth Pietro is already talking. “You didn't see that coming?” He doesn’t wait for a response, “You can't keep me hostage using a backpack. You didn't really think that was a reliable solution,” but his tone is petulant as he continues walking and Steve doesn't believe an ounce of it.

Steve shrugs. “You're right, man. How silly of me,” he says before veering toward a dumpster down an alley beside one of the other shops on the block. The Chinese food place run by a Greek family. He doesn't get three feet before he feels resistance on one of the straps. Pietro’s eyes are wide in a reactionary kind of way, as if he didn't mean to move. Steve doesn't give on the material, but he stops his motion toward the dumpster. “I'll let it go right now if you promise to come with me so I can keep your commotion-causing hide out of jail,” he says, frustration obvious.

Pietro is already fidgeting, eyes darting around Steve's face. 

Suddenly Pietro’s tone takes on an almost disarming quality, complete with timid smile. “Don't throw it in there. We both know I'll have to fish it out and everything in there will be dripping with something. Just let me have it, I won’t run.”

Steve watches Pietro with hard, narrowed eyes. The change in demeanor is startling, to say the least. For the first time since he’s had it in his possession, Steve darts a hand to the zipper and pulls the backpack open. Pietro tries to grab the top flap, but not before Steve can get a hand in the bag. What his fingers come into contact with is perplexing. As Pietro rips the material from his grasp Steve holds onto a handful of the contents. Pictures come spilling out.

Pietro hisses something in Romanian as he dives for the pictures, grabbing them before the wind can kick them away. Steve doesn’t move, eyes fixed on the photos in his hand. They’re of children. Happy, smiling, playing. A few have an adult in the background, also happy and smiling. Sometimes it’s a man. Sometimes a woman. The woman is pale and dark and small and long all at the same time, just like her daughter would grow up to be.

The photos are pulled from Steve’s hand. Pietro looks near murderous. He doesn’t speak as he turns and begins walking away from Steve.

Steve sighs. “They’re going to find you and they’re going to arrest you,” he calls after Pietro. “They’ll keep you in because you’re a flight risk. Your sister will spend every penny she has on legal fees that have nothing to do with the pro bono status set by my firm and the court will still find you guilty.” Pietro’s steps falter there and Steve takes that as a cue to walk after him. “Come back with me. Go to your court date. Help me do my damn job,” he finishes with a frustrated growl.

Pietro doesn’t move for a solid thirty seconds before his shoulders sag. “Okay.”

Steve tries to hold in a relieved sigh as he steps up next to Pietro. “Okay,” he says. Then, “Come on.”

Back at Steve’s apartment it takes him all of two minuted to show Pietro around, meaning he points down hallways and gives directions. His apartment has an open kitchen next to one hallway containing the guest room and guest bathroom. The main bedroom is through a door off the living room.

“The guest room and bathroom are all set up. I put a clean towel in there and then I wasn’t sure if you had a toothbrush so I dug up a new one and set that in there. I threw some sweats on the bed in the guest room, too,” Steve says, fidgeting with the lining of his pockets.

Pietro grunts in understanding.

Steve rocks back on his heels. “I’m sure we can get some of your things from Wanda’s place tomorrow, maybe once she’s calmed down a little,” he adds quietly.

Pietro snorts. “She won’t calm down,” he says. “Not until the charges are dropped.” He shrugs.

Steve arches an eyebrow. “And here I thought I was your first,” he says. “Lawyer,” he adds as an afterthought before letting his eyes shut briefly in embarrassment he is determined to keep off of his face otherwise.

Pietro shakes his head. “She is just as our mother was. Once pushed, that was it until the situation was fixed,” he says and then, as if realizing he’s spoken too much, closes his mouth tightly and drops onto the couch.

Steve sighs, unsure of how exactly to respond to that. He goes for tactful obliviousness. “Well alright then. Maybe she still doesn’t want you to have to walk around naked,” he mutters, turning and heading toward his room. Before closing his door Steve pauses and huffs out a breath. “If you’re not here when I wake up, I’ll tell the DA you skipped,” he says quietly. 

Previous sounds of shifting fabric stop and Steve knows Pietro heard him. Steve closes his bedroom door, hoping for the best.


	2. Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Steve shrugs. “Maybe I’m just not a creep,” he says, a little offended for Wanda that Pietro would read his kind treatment as obvious disinterest._
> 
> _Pietro rolls his eyes. “I’m sure you’re no special snowflake. I just think you don’t feel that way about the fairer sex,” he says before taking another bite._
> 
> _“What makes you say that?” Steve asks, eyebrows furrowing._
> 
> _Pietro doesn’t answer him for a few seconds, chewing on his pizza slowly as they walk. When he finally does his words are measured even in the confines of his thick accent. “You look at your friend that owns the coffee shop like I’ve seen men look at my sister,” he says by way of an answer._
> 
> _Steve’s shoulders stiffen momentarily. It’s not that Pietro is wrong, it’s just been a long time since someone pointed that out. Steve clears his throat. “I’ve known Bucky since I was a kid,” he starts before trailing off, not really knowing where to go with that as an answer._
> 
> _Pietro scoffs lightly. “I’m not judging you for the way you look at him. I’m just saying, you like men,” he says._
> 
> _“Dammit,” Steve mutters and Pietro snorts this time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This one is definitely longer with some important bits in there. Hope you enjoy as well!

In the morning Steve isn’t disappointed, however he is a little perplexed. Because, when he comes out of his room at five to set a pot of coffee to brew while he showers, Pietro is asleep on the couch. Fully clothed and practically where he left him. It is in that instant Steve is struck with just how exhausting it must be to live Pietro’s life. 

Steve pads over to the couch. “Hey,” he says softly, shaking the younger man’s shoulder gently. Pietro doesn’t respond. Steve tries again. “Hey, Pete.” 

Pietro’s eyes fly open and Steve jerks backward in surprise. “I’m sorry,” Pietro says so quickly it must be something he’s encountered before. “I think I fell asleep right after you closed the door.” Pietro yawns around his words.

Steve shakes his head. “It’s okay,” he says quietly. “Why don’t you move into the guestroom and I’ll wake you up before I leave so we can figure out the key situation.”

Pietro begins moving drowsily but suddenly freezes. “You’re going to leave me with keys?” he says, tone skeptical.

Steve drags a hand down his face. “I don’t know if I’m ready to have this conversation before coffee, but yeah that was my plan,” he says. 

Pietro frowns before standing and heading down the hallway in the direction of the room Steve had pointed out the night before. The bedroom door shuts with a click and Steve has a difficult time suppressing the urge to climb back in his own bed.

As he showers, Steve attempts to suppress thoughts of the sleeping boy. This is a ritual he’s used to, though not with the object of his thoughts in the other room. There isn't anything inherently inappropriate about these particular thoughts, they’re pretty close to his typical morning run through. But the frequency and depth is edging on uncomfortable.

They always start out innocently enough; a little mental case review here, a little no-show contingency plan there. Before long the anxiety starts; Pietro doesn't look like he's eating, he isn't sleeping enough, and speaking of which where is he sleeping? With him hopefully passed out in the other room, the latter thought gives way to dwelling on Pietro’s question about the key and what it meant. These are Steve’s morning thoughts about his client. 

Steve comes back to himself with a sigh when the water has started to go cold. The next few days are going to wreak havoc on his water bill.

When he wakes Pietro up an hour later, Steve has keys in his hand. “So here's the deal, I haven't had time to make a spare set. Which means these are mine.” He drops the keys on the bedside table. “You can go do…” Steve waves his hand around. “Whatever you like. Preferably legal,” he adds the last part quickly. “But I need you to be back here by seven to let me in after work,” Steve finishes, tone dropping to a stern command.

Pietro stares at the keys. “Do I have to go anywhere?” he asks.

Steve doesn't answer for a moment, mind running through why Pietro could be asking. “Um...no, I guess not,” he says finally.

Pietro nods. “Cool,” and he's flopping down in bed, head on the pillow and back to Steve.

Steve stares at him for a few moments before sighing and leaving the room.

At the office he tries to work on his other cases, but it proves incredibly difficult. His mind keeps drifting back to the boy...man...person in his apartment. Did Pietro wake up or was he still asleep? Did Pietro stay in the apartment or leave? Will Steve still have belongings when he comes home?

He only makes it until lunch before he’s ducking into the office of the partner that oversees him. “Hey, Tony, you mind if I work from home for the rest of the day? I’m not feeling too well.”

Tony barely looks up from his tablet. “Yes, but you’ve never actually taken a day off so would you believe that I feel guilty saying no?”

Steve arches an eyebrow. “Not really,” he says.

Tony looks up at him with a shit eating grin. “You know me so well,” eyes back on the tablet. “Off with you, Rogers. I wish you the best with your lady troubles. And just so we’re clear, that was not a gay joke. I’m implying you have a period purely by style of request.”

Steve snorts out a laugh and suppresses an eye roll. “Thanks, Tony,” he says, leaving the office before the flighty man can change his mind.

Steve’s home by one and as he twists his unlocked door knob he prays Pietro didn’t go anywhere. When the sound of the television greets him, Steve feels immense relief. 

Pietro is on the couch in the living room, still wearing the sweats Steve gave him. They’re a little big, riding low on his hips with the bottom of his shirt pushed up from how he’s slumped.

Steve clears his throat. “Hey,” he says, suppressing a flinch when Pietro jumps nearly a foot in the air. He’d been asleep. “Ah shit. I - fuck,” he rubs his eyes. “I didn't mean to startle you,” he says, tone begging pitty.

Pietro is sitting up fully when Steve looks at him again. He’s trying to rub sleep off his face but he doesn't look upset. Dazed.

Steve shakes his head. “Uh, heart attack aside, sorry for that by the way, you wanna go grab some food?” Pietro’s back straightens and he looks even more startled somehow. Steve starts talking immediately. “You, just, you have to eat and there is nothing in the apartment. I could order food but the only place open right now is this weird Korean fusion that gave me food poisoning.”

Pietro arches an eyebrow, at the babbling Steve is sure, before pulling himself up. “I'll put on pants. We'll figure it out.”

Pants. Food. Good. And maybe a stop by Wanda’s for clothes that fit. They’ll cross that bridge when they come to it.

Steve takes Pietro to a pizza place around the corner. He’s in his early twenties, surely he enjoys pizza. With pineapple, Steve finds out. He suppresses a groan, because he really likes pineapple on his pizza too. The place doesn’t really have anywhere to sit, so they end up walking around the neighborhood while they eat.

Steve almost chokes on a mushroom when Pietro speaks up suddenly. “Why’d you agree to watch me?” He isn’t looking at him and as soon as the sentence is out he takes another bite of his own pizza.

Steve takes a moment to clear his pipes, chewing a few extra times before he swallows. “I agreed to house you because your sister was tired of rewarding your behavior,” he says, putting as much ‘adult lawyer’ behind the answer as he can.

Pietro nods. “Yeah, that. Why’d you agree to do that?” he says around a mouthful of food.

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s still at a loss for exactly how to answer that. 

Pietro arches an eyebrow at him. “I know it couldn’t possibly be because you’re trying to get in _her_ pants,” he says.

Steve would have choked on pizza again if he risked another bite. Luckily, he refrained. He’s learning. “How exactly do you know that?” As soon as the words come out of his mouth he regrets them. Not learning fast enough. He would have been better off leaning into that trope, the lawyer that helps the troubled brother to get in with his sister. Steve was never very good at playing games. It would make things simpler, though.

Pietro still doesn’t look at him, but Steve can see the grin that develops as Steve’s cheeks flush. “I’ve watched men for years who were attracted to my sister. You don’t do any of the things they do,” he says.

Steve shrugs. “Maybe I’m just not a creep,” he says, a little offended for Wanda that Pietro would read his kind treatment as obvious disinterest.

Pietro rolls his eyes. “I’m sure you’re no special snowflake. I just think you don’t feel that way about the fairer sex,” he says before taking another bite.

“What makes you say that?” Steve asks, eyebrows furrowing.

Pietro doesn’t answer him for a few seconds, chewing on his pizza slowly as they walk. When he finally does his words are measured even in the confines of his thick accent. “You look at your friend that owns the coffee shop like I’ve seen men look at my sister,” he says by way of an answer.

Steve’s shoulders stiffen momentarily. It’s not that Pietro is wrong, it’s just been a long time since someone pointed that out. Steve clears his throat. “I’ve known Bucky since I was a kid,” he starts before trailing off, not really knowing where to go with that as an answer. 

Pietro scoffs lightly. “I’m not judging you for the way you look at him. I’m just saying, you like men,” he says.

“Dammit,” Steve mutters and Pietro snorts this time. 

Bucky wouldn’t remember it of course. They were seventeen and those parts of his memory are still hiding themselves. But he and Steve had that conversation when Steve was first coming out. They were teenage boys, their hormones going nuts and they spent an inordinate amount of time around each other. One day, while they were horsing around, Steve got a hard-on. Both boys noticed at the same time and before Steve could pull away Bucky kissed him. Just kissed him without preamble. He put a significant amount of weight into it, breathing out roughly through his nose, before pulling away and looking at Steve with a frown fixed on his face.

_“Sorry to do that, pal,”_ Bucky said, seeming genuinely apologetic. _“Shit. That was shitty.”_ He rubs a hand down his face nervously. _“I was just kind of hoping maybe. But I don’t think I like guys.”_ Steve stared at him for a moment before he hugged him. He hadn’t quite gotten used to his growth spurt and as embarrassed as he was, Steve couldn’t have felt more lucky.

Like getting smacked in the face Steve realizes exactly what Pietro is implying and finds himself oddly annoyed. Finally he sighs. “Look kid, you’re my damn ward. I had to file paperwork with my firm to house you until your court date because they have such strict fraternization policies. Don’t even go there,” he says, as close to snapping as Steve really gets. 

Pietro doesn’t speak right after that but it doesn’t really matter. They’ve made it to Wanda’s block and he realizes where they’re going. He stops dead in the middle of the sidewalk, fixing Steve with a look reminiscent of a kicked puppy. 

Stopping as well, Steve sighs. “Come on, kid. You need clothes. We’ll be in and out, you’ll barely have any time to exchange glares,” he says, beckoning Pietro forward.

Pietro watches him a few seconds more. “You called her,” he says. It definitely isn't a question.

Steve inclines his head, not a yes but not a no. “She has a bag packed for you,” he says by way of confirmation.

Pietro breezes past him then, the always unlocked door of Wanda’s building slamming shut behind him. Steve takes a deep breath. They’d had such a pleasant walk all things considered.

When Steve reaches Wanda’s floor she and Pietro are speaking hushed Romanian in her doorway. She’s holding a duffel bag to Pietro’s chest but he won’t take hold of it. Wanda latches eyes with Steve. If he didn't know any better, he’d say her gaze was pleading. 

“You have to go back with Mr. Rogers now, big brother,” she says quietly and Pietro stiffens. After a moment Pietro snatches the bag from Wanda and heads quickly past Steve again. 

Steve shakes his head. “Definitely getting my cardio in today,” he says, trying to elicit a smile.

Wanda takes pity on him with a tight lipped one. “I'll see you soon, Mr. Rogers,” she says before disappearing into her apartment.

Pietro is gone when Steve exits the building. Fighting down the anxiety as he walks home quickly, he spots Pietro waiting outside the building just as Steve turns onto his street. Steve remembers he took his keys back. They don't speak as Steve unlocks doors through the building. Once inside the apartment, Pietro goes straight to the guest room and doesn't emerge for the rest of the evening.

Pietro’s second night at the apartment, Steve wakes up to something unrecognisable. At least, it’s unrecognizable initially. The next time he hears it he doesn’t have an ounce of difficulty identifying the sound; it’s Pietro yelling. Steve’s body tenses as he shoots straight up in bed, listening for any additional sounds. 

What comes next is that of the 10 books he fell asleep with hitting the floor. He winces and waits. And waits. No other noise comes, not that he expected it after that crash. Brow furrowed, Steve lays back down.

In the morning Steve finds Pietro asleep on the couch again. This time he's on his side with his head propped on a couch cushion and his body wrapped in the spare blanket from the guest room. The TV is on quietly. 

Steve imagines he woke Pietro with the books and the other man couldn't, or didn't want to, sleep afterward. Steve chooses not to wake him this time as he sets coffee to brew. When he comes back into the living room after he’s showered and dressed Pietro has woken and is sitting up on the couch. 

“I'm sorry about the noise last night. I knocked some books off my bed,” Steve says as he fills a travel mug with coffee. 

Pietro turns his head slowly to look at him, blinking a few times before shaking his head. “It’s fine, really,” he says, but Steve’s pretty sure he saw Pietro’s shoulders relax.

“I'll be back around four today,” Steve says, aware he won't be able to make a full day at work. Pietro tilts his head in acknowledgement but otherwise stares at the TV. Steve sighs, “I'm gonna make dinner tonight if you'll be around - “

“You still haven’t made keys, I'll be here,” Pietro grunts. Oddly enough, it’s comforting.

Steve’s as unfocused at work as he’d been the day before, only this time he promises himself he won’t retreat home. 

Four. He can make it til four. 

Steve is so distracted by thoughts of the person in his apartment that he doesn't hear anyone approach his door. It’s still early and he lets his receptionist come in late if she can’t find anyone to take her kid to school...which is most mornings.

His head shoots up when he hears a throat clear from the doorway of his office. The woman standing there is so familiar yet so foreign that Steve spends about five seconds trying to place her before he remembers his manners. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says, rising from his chair. “Can I help you with something?”

The smile that slowly appears on the woman’s face is damn near relieved. “You don’t remember me. Solid. That might actually work in my favor,” she says, smoothing her hands down the skirt of a dress Steve is quickly noticing she seems very uncomfortable in. Her long hair is pulled to the side in a braid, but every once in awhile her hand twitches up like she’s going to run it through before she remembers. 

The realization hits Steve like a ton of bricks, like no time has passed, and before he can think better of it he’s dropping down into his chair. “Holy shit,” he breathes and the woman’s face falls.

“Goddammit,” she sighs, starting to shift back and forth as she plays with the end of her braid.

“What are you doing here?” Steve is surprised at the anger he hears in his own voice when he speaks. He just, he didn’t expect to see her again. Not like this. It had been at least three or four years since she left town.

The woman nods before she speaks. “I deserve that,” she begins quickly. “This is me taking that in, wholeheartedly, and acknowledging I deserve it. And in light of this deserving, I’m hoping you won’t burn me where I stand for my answer.” Steve doesn’t say anything, just stares. The woman clears her throat. “Silence. Cool. I guess I’m just going for it - Um,” she clears it again. “The master's program in this town is one of the most prestigious in my field. Getting in would be an honor and I want to apply.” 

Steve’s jaw tightens noticeably and he fixes furrowed eyes on the woman “And you’re asking my permission?” he says, the words tumbling out terse and long suffered.

She bites her lip. “I mean, technically yeah. It’s a small town and I know you may not think so but I understand I bailed. I missed out on a lot. So if you wanna tell me to go fuck myself, I kind of have to respect that.”

The words feel almost foreign as they come out of Steve’s mouth, “Go fuck yourself.”

She freezes at that, not entirely shocked but clearly not expecting that. With a deep breath and a swallow she stands and walks quickly out of the office. Steve almost feels bad, he really does. But that’s because he’s Steve Rogers. Everything makes him feel bad. Not an ounce of him thinks that girl deserves his pity. Yes. Not an ounce.

He makes it til three that afternoon before he can’t file back due paperwork anymore and sneaks out while Tony is in a meeting. It’s not Pietro that has Steve so anxious now.

Steve gets to the apartment with his weekly groceries before he realizes he forgot half of what he needs. Pausing outside with full hands Steve lets his forehead drop against the door. The day has been too long. Much too long. He actually forgets someone is in his apartment until he almost stumbles inside when the door opens.

“Oh shit,” Pietro hisses, bracing his hands on Steve’s shoulders. Steve steadies quickly but manages to drop a few of his bags with a loud clack. Cans. “Oh shit,” Pietro says again, ducking down to grab the bags.

Steve would be lying if he said he wasn't a little surprised. He was convinced Pietro would hold onto the ambush grudge for a little longer at least. Maybe he caught him off guard.

Before Steve can think better of it, he starts talking. “Will you put those cans on the table in the kitchen?”

Pietro does so without hesitation and Steve has to fight down his shock. Maybe he’s hungry? 

“What’s for dinner?”

Ding ding ding.

Steve smiles down at the bags he’s set on the counter as he begins to unpack them. “I just need to starve you to get you to talk to me, huh?” he says impulsively, praying the joke doesn't backfire. 

To his relief, Pietro only snorts before pulling out a chair at the table to drop down into. 

“I'm making pasta and meat sauce,” Steve says. Pietro doesn't say anything to him after that. Only sits at the table and watches him cook. It would be unnerving, but Steve must admit he likes the company. They stay in oddly companionable silence while Steve makes the sauce.

Steve manages to pour half a pot of water on the floor when he goes to boil the pasta. The noise he hears after that sends a jolt through his chest down into the pit of his stomach. Pietro is laughing. He’s leaning over the kitchen table and he’s laughing.

“Hey!” The word comes out indignant, but honestly Steve is just trying to catch his bearings. 

Pietro laughs again and Steve’s chest clenches. “I'm sorry, you’ve been so careful. I think that may have negated any gracefulness I thought you possessed,” he says.

Steve gulps but forces himself to move on quickly. “You thought I was graceful, huh?” He asks, grabbing a towel to soak up the water.

Pietro is fast. “Comically careful is apparently mistakable for grace. I’ve learned something new today,” he says, lips still quirked in a smile as he tries to steal walnuts from a bowl Steve set on the table.

Thoughtlessly Steve reaches over to smack his hand. “Hey! Those are for the salad,” he says, grabbing the bowl and putting it on the other side of the stove.

When he looks back Pietro is watching him. Heat immediately rushes up the back of Steve’s neck when Pietro doesn't look away. Steve clears his throat. “I'm almost done here. Why don't you go ahead and grab some plates,” he says. “They're in the cabinet next to the ‘fridge.”

Pietro stands from the table to get the plates. Steve is suddenly aware of exactly how small the space is. The refrigerator isn't even particularly close to the stove, but Steve could swear the air feels thinner. Pietro grabs two plates then he reaches in one of the drawers to get forks for good measure. Steve arches an eyebrow at him.

“What? I pay attention,” he says but has the decency to put no weight behind it.

Steve turns back to salt his pasta water, “Good to know.”

The two get halfway through the meal in silence before Pietro says anything. “So, you said your firm has a strict fraternization policy?” Pietro asks.

Steve lifts his eyes up from his food to stare at him for a few seconds before answering. “Yeah. One of our partners created some issues,” he says slowly.

Pietro nods casually, taking another bite of pasta. He swallows before asking, “What happens if they catch you?”

Steve arches an eyebrow, “Catch me doing what?”

“Fraternizing with your clients.”

“I get fired.”

Pietro gives another casual nod, “Good to know.” They go back to their silent meal.


	3. Accidents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Finally Steve relents. “Yeah, we should probably just head over to Buck’s,” he says._
> 
> _Pietro raises an eyebrow. “‘Boned’?” he asks flatly._
> 
> _Rolling his eyes, Steve corrects him, “‘Bone Dry’.”_
> 
> _“Why the fuck would he call it that?” he asks._
> 
> _Blinking slowly at Pietro a few times, Steve pauses to collect his thoughts before answering. “Because, ‘The Government Mutilated My Body and Turned Me Into a Killing Machine’ was too long to fit on his tax forms,” he says._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: You guys are the best. Hope you enjoy!

For the first time in three nights his inability to sleep has little to do with Pietro. The woman that walked into his office that day, a woman now but a girl when he knew her, hasn't been in town in years. Not since Bucky’s accident. As distracting as their dinner was, as soon as Steve’s alone his mind slingshots right back to this issue. For the second time in three nights Steve falls asleep next to a pile of legal briefs.

It’s not yells but whimpers that rouse him out of his fitful sleep this time.

The simple things.

Reflexively Steve climbs out of bed and moves toward the noises, into the hallway and stopping outside of the guest room door. He pauses, struggling to decide how to handle the situation. The next noise he hears makes Steve’s mind up for him. “Pete?” he calls through the door. 

For a moment there’s no reply and then Steve hears a broken and incredibly small, “No.” Steve’s chest constricts painfully at the sound and his hand goes to the doorknob. It’s locked. “Please wake up.” Pietro’s words are an agonized whine and Steve begins to feel a sense of desperation as he reaches up to search for the ‘L’ key above the doorframe. When his fingers come into contact with it he fumbles and knocks it to the ground. 

Steve bends down to pick up the key as the sounds coming from the room become more distressed and less discernible. After fumbling for a few more moments, Steve gets the lock to release and pops the door open. Pietro is curled on his side on the bed, blankets and sheets kicked to the floor. His entire body is shaking. Steve would blame it on a chill in the room, but the air is comfortable. 

“Pete,” Steve hisses, making his way toward the bed. The shaking doesn’t stop and Pietro’s little whines are becoming heartbreakingly smaller by the moment. “Pete,” Steve tries again, now close enough to lay a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Wake up. Come on, kid,” he sighs, shaking him a bit. “You’re having a bad dre - woah!“ Suddenly Steve’s being thrown off his feet. A forearm braces against his throat as his back hits the bed and Steve fights desperately to gasp for a breath.

Pietro stares down at him with hard, unseeing eyes for mere moments before those same eyes widen almost comically and the pressure lifts from Steve’s throat. 

“Oh shit,” Pietro’s voice cracks with surprise as he scrambles backward across the bed. He mutters something in Romanian. Steve assumes along the lines of, _oh shit._

Steve takes a few beats to collect himself, inhaling deeply. “I heard you from my room,” he says finally, his voice hoarse to his own ears. “Heard you last night, too. I didn’t think you wanted to,” Steve clears his throat when it starts to tighten. “I didn’t think you’d wanna stay in that.”

Pietro has his legs crossed in front of him, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says, words terse but genuine. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he adds.

Steve can’t help the laugh that bursts from his lips, shifting into a little choked sound quickly after.

Pietro groans. “Fuck,” he says, “I’m sorry.” He swipes a hand down his face. “Fuck, that was - fuck.”

Steve swallows a few times. “I probably should have been more careful. It’s actually pretty amazing this was the first time that happened,” he says, slowly sitting up.

Pietro shifts around, Steve assumes with discomfort at the reference to the places he’s found him. “I’ve had them since our parents died,” Pietro mutters by way of an answer. “In basic the others would write things on me during the night…” he trails off, as if realizing he's shared too much. “Light sleeper,” he finishes quickly.

“What would Wanda do when you had them?” Steve asks softly and Pietro stiffens. 

“Excuse me?” he says, tone terse.

Steve shifts to mirror Pietro’s position, legs crossing in front of himself. “When you were kids, after the accident, what would she do?” Steve asks.

Pietro presses his lips into a thin line. “She would hold me,” he says quietly.

Steve rubs the back of his neck. “Damn,” he says. “I was kind of hoping you’d say ‘talk it out’.”

Pietro snorts. “We don't talk things out,” he says after a moment, self-deprecating amusement lacing his voice. “We don't hold, either, but she has a soft spot for me,” he adds.

Steve can’t help himself, “I've noticed that.”

Pietro has the decency to look sheepish.

“You can't keep doing this to her,” Steve plows forward. “Even family has a breaking point.”

The sheepish look doesn't leave Pietro’s face and Steve finds comfort in hoping they're having the same conversation. “It isn't something I'm doing _to_ her - “ Pietro begins.

“You're just not thinking _about_ her. It's not any better, kid,” Steve says, fighting the thin line his lips want to settle into.

Eyes fixed on a spot just past Steve’s head, Pietro doesn't say anything for a few moments. “I'm sorry again for waking you. But I think I should be alright now,” he says finally and he sounds exhausted.

With a sigh, Steve pats the younger man on the knee thoughtlessly before uncrossing his legs and swinging his feet to the floor. “Okay Pete,” he says, “I hope you sleep well...er, better,” he adds on the way out the door, closing it with a soft click. 

On the other side Steve stops, hand still on the knob, and closes his eyes. He refuses to ponder the implications of playing late night counsel to his young male client.

It’s a struggle.

Because well before Pietro came to stay with him Steve had to fight to keep his mind from drifting in his direction. He dreamed about the way Pietro walked, talked, and smelled. Steve woke up with a raging hard on after spending a night with images his mind had concocted of Pietro going through the Cyrillic alphabet with his nose buried in Steve’s public hair and Steve’s cock down his throat. He’s managed to push those dreams down in favor of his mantra of worry in the morning; guilt softening any burning desire...or perhaps it’s the sleepless nights on both their parts.

Every time Steve talks to Pietro in reality, he can't help seeing the one in his head looking up at him from his knees.

It’s been like this since Steve laid eyes on him. Maybe it’s his eyes, or his smile, or that cocky way he -

“Ugh,” Steve groans, running his hands down his face.

He tries, he really does. Steve is nothing if not a saintly trier. 

Still…

“What?” Bruce’s voice is muffled over the line, giving the impression that half his face is still buried in the pillow. 

“Do you want to go for a run?” Steve asks.

Bruce groans, still muffled, and then there is lots of shuffling. “You mean do I want to watch you lap me for 45 minutes because chemo killed my stamina?” The question is rhetorical, Steve knows that.

Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Shit, sorry Bruce. Please, go ba - “

“Oh don’t do that. I’m already out of bed. If you take it back I end up feeling like that was pointless,” Bruce interrupts him with a sigh.

Steve smiles. “Thank you,” he says.

“The coffee will be your treat when we’re done.”

“Yes, Dr. Banner.”

After their run they go to get coffee at the shop. Walking in the door the first thing they see is Bucky darting around like a chicken with his head cut off. Steve and Bruce sigh, looking at each other before stripping off their jackets and stashing them in Bucky’s office. 

As Steve grabs plates of food from the counter he meets Bucky’s grateful eyes. “You need to hire help, pal,” he says, bringing the plates to the handful of people waiting for food.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Bruce shoo Bucky away so he can take over the register. Bucky sighs in relief as he catches up on coffee orders. “I know,” he breathes.

Bruce and Bucky move relatively stiffly around each other these days, but Bruce is never one to let personal barriers get in the way of being helpful. Plus, Natasha likes to remind Bruce this isn't entirely Bucky’s fault. Bucky doesn't believe that, but Bruce remembers why it’s true.

Steve shakes the thoughts away as he continues to deliver food and clear dishes.

Things don’t let up until 7:30 that morning. By then Steve has to suppress a groan when the bell above the door rings. He’s already twenty minutes late leaving for work. Bruce left half an hour before to get ready for an appointment. The man that walks in is scruffy and blond, holding a duffel bag.

“What can I get you?” Bucky asks, distractedly trying to make a latte.

“Um,” the man looks around himself, “A job?” he asks. 

Bucky pauses in what he’s doing. “I'm sorry, what?”

The guy takes a couple more glances around the shop before focusing all of his attention on Bucky. “I need a job,” he says again.

Bucky blinks at him a few times. Steve sighs. “Do you steal things? Murder people?” he asks. The man shakes his head ‘No’ while having the decency to not look offended. “Can you bus a table and run a big coffee machine?” Steve asks.

The guy looks at Steve and shrugs, “Best coffee in my platoon,” he says. 

Steve nods in satisfaction before tossing a dish towel at him. The guy catches it in one hand. “You’re hired. I’ll get a contract drawn up and I’ll bring it by while you’re working. You need to start now though, I have to go.”

“Hey,” Bucky snaps. “You can't - “ he trails off quickly. Because Steve can, he totally can. “What’s your name?” he asks instead with a sigh.

“Clint,” the guy says. “Can I stash my bag somewhere?”

Steve beckons Clint to follow him to the office. In there Steve points toward the couch. “Feel free to just drop your stuff here,” he says as he slips his jacket on. Clint puts his stuff on the couch before looking at Steve expectantly. “Right, okay. First things first, I’m Steve and the frantic guy out there is the owner, Bucky,” he starts. Clint raises his eyebrows. “He’s never hired help before and I’m not entirely sure this will stick. I have no idea what he’ll pay you or what the hours will be like. For the time being, just - “ Steve pauses for a moment, trying to think of the best way to phrase it. He doesn’t have time to train this guy on anything and Bucky isn’t the most patient these days.

A light bulb seems to go on behind Clint’s eyes and an amused grin takes over his face that gives Steve further pause. “You want me to just watch him and do whatever he needs?” Clint asks.

Steve snorts, running a hand over his face. “That would be great, but that espresso machine is a beast. And the grill - “

“Is a grill; hot flat surface, cook food, don’t touch,” Clint says, waving his hand at Steve. “The machine looks like it has a lot of knobs, but I’m a pretty quick learner,” he adds.

“I don't think he’ll let you touch the cash register, but if he does -” Steve starts, arching an eyebrow.

Clint rolls his eyes. “Does this face not scream retail?” he interrupts and then leaves the office before Steve can answer. Steve stares at the spot where Clint was. 

_What?_

He’s not surprised to see another rush has started. However, when he goes out on the floor he sees that Clint is already behind the espresso machine pulling shots. “What the fuck?” Steve says over the noise of the machine, heedless of the customers.

Clint smiles down at the knobs in front of him. “Oh, we had a machine just like this at my last shop,” he says when things quiet before the machine’s noises start back up again.

Steve doesn’t move for a moment. “Oh joy, he’s gonna be fun,” he mutters to himself. Before he leaves he catches Bucky’s eye and waves. The other man barely spares a glance. As the door closes behind Steve he feels a balled up napkin hit the back of his head and he laughs. That damn arm.

Utterly exhausted, Steve makes the trudge home. Halfway there he texts his receptionist. He’s sick, he won’t be coming in today. Cancel his appointments. Even as he types the words his chest seizes like Tony is going to jump out of the bushes to bust him. He hasn’t taken a sick day in...oh, well, ever at the firm. As if to make sure he doesn’t take it back, his phone dies as soon as his last text sends.

It doesn’t occur to Steve until he’s opening his front door that he should have left a note or something. It’s been awhile since he lived with someone, even temporarily. He forgets what it feels like to have someone expect you to be someplace. For the first morning in a few days Steve isn’t greeted by a sleeping Pietro on the couch. An odd ball forms in Steve’s stomach and he quietly makes his way to the guest room. Only, the door is wide open and the light is on. Steve freezes as that ball in his stomach clenches painfully.

“No, no, no,” he mutters to himself as he turns to rush to his room. He just needs to charge his phone and then he can -

Steve freezes at the sight he’s met with when he enters his room. Pietro has the blanket from the living room wrapped around him and he’s curled up at the foot of Steve’s bed like a dog. Steve’s adrenaline spike immediately gives way and his exhaustion comes back full force as he breathes a huge sigh of relief. Instead of waking Pietro up directly, he lets himself simply sit down on the bed near the younger man’s knees. His eyes begin to flutter open and Steve wonders how long he’s been laying there. 

Pietro doesn’t wait for Steve to speak before he’s talking, voice slurred with sleep. “I - I woke again after you left. Um, couldn’t sleep. Came here, but you’d gone. Didn’t mean to knock out,” he says. The words are spliced together, like he can’t think of them quickly enough.

Steve nods. “Scoot up,” he says, pushing himself to standing once more as he strips off his jacket. 

Pietro watches him walk into the master bath with furrowed eyes. “What?” he calls to him through the doorway.

Steve comes out of the bathroom with clean clothes on. He washed his face and is going to ignore the grime still covering his body from his run earlier and time at the coffee shop. At least the smell of coffee has covered the sweat and he needs to change his bed anyway. “Kid, I’m really tired. Just -- “

Pietro has uncurled and is situating himself on one side of Steve’s king size bed before Steve can finish his sentence. Steve nods slowly. “Right, those instructions you can follow,” he says, moving around his bed to climb in on the other side. Pietro watches Steve as he moves, stiff like an animal worried it’s owner is about to tell it to get off the bed. Once Steve is in bed he sighs at Pietro’s still stiff form. “Just relax, get some sleep; you’re safe,” he says almost offhandedly while settling into his pillow.

Pietro’s eyes widen slightly and Steve resists the urge to tell him that he knows what it’s like when your parents die when you’re relatively young. They made you feel safe, protected. They’re supposed to do that until you’re old enough to protect yourself. It’s kind of hard to bridge that gap when they’re not there to show you what the bridge should look like. Steve closes his eyes instead. He practically feels the air release when Pietro finally relaxes into the pillow.

Steve wakes up to an empty bed, his bedside clock reading 12:30pm. He groans. There goes his day. A small voice at the back of his head that sounds a lot like Bucky reminds him that he’s already had a morning run and worked the majority of a rush hour shift at a popular coffee shop. Still, he’s used to doing a bit more work on his caseload by now and being in bed so late in the day gives him an uneasy feeling in his gut.

Pulling himself out from under the covers, Steve crawls out of bed like it’s actively trying to keep him there. He opens his bedroom door and is met with the gloriously familiar smell of burned coffee. There’s also something else hidden in there but Steve doesn’t give himself a moment to wonder. He heads straight for the coffee pot. 

Steve is so focused on getting caffeine he entirely misses Pietro sitting at the kitchen table. He jumps about a foot in the air when the younger man speaks as he reaches the pot. “I couldn’t find the coffee so I heated up the pot from yesterday,” he says. “Um,” Pietro pauses but Steve isn’t really paying attention. “I tried to make eggs but then I remembered I can’t make eggs or...anything. There’s a pizza on the way,” he mutters the last part quickly.

Milk cools the coffee enough to drink and Steve manages five good gulps before Pietro’s words catch up with him. He looks at the pan on the stove, a bit of a burned egg mess but nothing too terrible. A glance at the trashcan confirms Pietro must have scrapped the eggs in there. Yoke on the outside is a new look for it.

Too tired to be annoyed in the least Steve just nods, “Whatever it is better have mushrooms,” he says before turning and disappearing back into his bedroom. 

The door closes with a click. Shower. Must shower. Steve gets through most of the shower before his mind starts drifting to the younger man that attempted to make them a semblance of breakfast. The man that reacted to his disappearance like an abandoned puppy. The man he woke to spooning him at 8am, morning wood against his ass causing a clenching pitched low in his abdomen. It was a testament to Steve’s exhaustion that no sooner did he feel and consider how to react to it than he was dozing off again.

Now he jerks himself off in the shower quietly, letting his mind wander to what could have happened in that instance of sleep-fortified weakness if Pietro had woken to reach around his body and take hold of his ---

Steve comes biting his forearm, attempting to muffle the sounds he can’t seem to keep down. 

Shame immediately takes over the feeling of release, guilt at a fantasy of hastily crossed moral boundaries turning his orgasm sour. He’s so fucked.

The smell of pizza hits him in the face when he opens his bedroom door half an hour later, having washed away most of the disappointment and self-loathing. Most of it.

Without conversation the two sit down to eat, chewing in peaceful silence.

Steve’s already put away three slices by the time he is overtaken by a series of yawns that remind him it’s getting more and more difficult to disrupt his sleep schedule the older he gets.

Pietro arches an eyebrow at him. “Tired old man? Should we pump you full of caffeine?” he asks through a mouthful of food.

Contemplating powering through, Steve knows the reason Pietro couldn't find coffee earlier is because he doesn't have any. As if hearing his thoughts, Pietro stares at him with an arched eyebrow. Finally Steve relents. “Yeah, we should probably just head over to Buck’s,” he says.

Pietro raises an eyebrow. “‘Boned’?” he asks flatly. 

Rolling his eyes, Steve corrects him, “‘Bone Dry’.”

“Why the fuck would he call it that?” he asks.

Blinking slowly at Pietro a few times, Steve pauses to collect his thoughts before answering. “Because, ‘The Government Mutilated My Body and Turned Me Into a Killing Machine’ was too long to fit on his tax forms,” he says.

Pietro nods. “That’s a good reason,” and there’s no hint of irony anywhere in his voice. When he cracks a half smile Steve let's out a bark of laughter. The kid’s quick, he’ll give him that.

“Come on, let's go pour some decent coffee on top of this nutritious meal,” Steve says, thoughtlessly clapping Pietro on the shoulder before standing from the table.

When they leave about half an hour later, Pietro’s footfalls behind Steve let him know the younger man is following. But Steve refuses to look back. Once out on the street they fall into step next to each other, neither apparently willing to break the silence.

It’s okay, Steve doesn't mind walking with Pietro.

Oddly enough the shop is quiet when they get there. 

“Afternoon Clint. I see you’re still here. You scare everyone away already?” Steve asks, noticing Clint behind the counter cleaning a baking pan in the industrial sink situated on the back wall. 

A snort rings over the sound of running water before it shuts off. “It’s the endless wall of charm. Get’s ‘em every time,” Clint says, putting the pan on the rack to dry. “Can I get you gents anything?” he asks, eyes skipping over to Pietro.

Surveying Clint with a curious gaze, Pietro slips a smirk onto his face. “Something off the menu, I assume. If so, I'll take dealer’s choice,” he says, surprisingly smooth for someone so cagey. 

Clint meets Pietro's smirk with one of his own, eyes betraying his amusement at the younger man’s cockiness. “Think I can probably whip something up. What about you, _Steve_?” Clint let's the name flip off his tongue, teeth dragging on his bottom lip to tug on the ‘V’. Steve’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline at the surprising behavior from this near stranger before Clint winks and flicks his eyes over to Pietro, watching the two like a hawk.

Steve has difficulty suppressing laughter when he realizes that Clint is a mischievous little shit. 

Clearing his throat, Steve shrugs. “You’re pretty good at figuring out what I like,” he says, attempting to be as flippant as possible. Still suppressing laughter, Steve isn't sure how well he succeeds. When he turns, Pietro is already walking toward a table and Steve is surprised to find he must have done pretty well.

Moving closer to the counter, Clint gives him a genuinely smile. “I'm sorry about that, I just wanted to mess with him,” Clint says, starting on the two drinks as he speaks. “I've been chewing up and spitting out kids like him longer than I care to admit,” he adds.

Steve nods at the visual. “Good to know,” he chuckles. 

While Clint’s pulling shots from the espresso machine Steve looks over to find Pietro staring right at him. There’s a smattering of customers in the cafe but that doesn't stop Steve from arching an eyebrow at Pietro and mouthing, ‘What?’ 

Pietro shakes his head before moving his steely gaze down to the tabletop in front of him. 

Coming over to the register with both of their drinks, Clint sets them down and slides them across the counter. “I do believe, ‘Oh yeah, Steve doesn’t pay’ is the only thing Bucky actually said to me after you left,” he says when Steve starts to pull out his wallet.

Steve freezes in place with a smile at the thought before tucking his wallet back into his pocket. “Well in that case, mind sending us some onion rings,” Steve says, face blooming into a grin.

Clint laughs. “Comin’ right up,” he throws over his shoulder as he turns to flip on the small frier next to the grill.

“Where is Bucky, by the way?” Steve asks, putting his hands on the drinks to slide around on the counter’s surface aimlessly. “It’s not that I don't trust you after this five-or-so hour acquaintance but -”

“You figure Bucky should be a little more concerned about me robbing the place?” Clint asks as he pulls the pre-battered onion rings out of the industrial fridge fixed into the wall on the other side of the bar like a pro. 

The chuckle that comes out of Steve is entirely reactionary. “Yeah, something like that.”

The onion rings sizzle as Clint drops them into the frier. “He took my wallet,” Clint says.

Steve’s jaw legitimately drops open. “I’m actually begging here, please don't sue him,” he says slowly after he pries it off the floor.

Clint chuckles, waving Steve away, “I've been asked for weirder shit, don't worry about it.”

Picking up the drinks, Steve nods. “Well, thank you,” he says. Then quickly, “Please don't have him arrested.”

Clint barks out a laugh as he goes back to dealing with the frier. 

Taking the drinks, Steve makes his way over to Pietro. He chose two armchairs by the window and Steve feels awkward as he sinks into his. 

Setting the drinks down between them, Pietro snags one and takes a sip. “I swear, I like how it tastes, but I already know this is going to have me vibrating out of my skin,” he says quietly, setting the cup down.

Steve arches an eyebrow. “You said dealer’s choice,” he reminds Pietro.

“Yeah, well, I was hoping the dealer liked tea,” he mutters, somehow getting progressively smaller as Steve speaks to him.

After taking a sip of his own drink, Steve smiles and holds out his hand. “Give it here,” he says, motioning with his fingers. Pietro arches an eyebrow but does as requested. Steve replaces Pietro’s cup with his own.

Taking another sip, Pietro snorts. “Aw, now hey, that’s not fair,” Pietro says when the green tea hits his tongue. He’s still chuckling.

Steve playfully wiggles his eyebrows, pulling from Pietro’s coffee cup. He glances toward the front counter to watch Clint take their onion rings from the fryer. “I'm thinking Bucky said _two_ sentences to Clint and one of them was along the lines of, ‘Steve drinks too much coffee’,” Steve says, shaking his head in amusement. 

Choosing to sip his tea rather than respond, Steve’s a little surprised by Pietro’s question when he lowers his cup. “Why does he think that?” He’s as flippant as ever, but there’s this tightness at the corners of his eyes.

Steve rubs the back of his head, gaze sliding around the room. “I don't sleep very much,” he admits. “It’s not unheard of for me to come here at odd hours. But mostly I just work on case paperwork in my room.”

Understanding crosses Pietro’s face. “Oh.” He doesn't have to say any more.

A basket drops down on the table between them. Looking up, Steve directs a thankful smile at Clint. “This will sit nicely on top of the pizza we had for lunch,” he says. 

Clapping a hand on Steve’s shoulder, Clint directs a smile at Pietro. “Anything for you,” he says with a wink, giving Steve’s shoulder a noticeable squeeze.

As Clint walks away, Steve meets eyes with Pietro. “So, what, you think it’s funny to fuck with the kid?” Pietro asks before taking another sip of his tea.

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. “I don't know what you’re -”

“You didn't flirt with him when I walked away. It’s all show,” Pietro interrupts. “And I heard you say you’ve only known him for five hours,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.

Dropping his head back, Steve chuckles. “Ooh, foiled,” he says, but he knows he doesn't sound particularly affected.

Rolling his eyes, Pietro looks away. “If it bothers you, truly bothers you, you just have to say something and I'll stop.”

As if he’d laid everything out in front of them, both men know exactly what Pietro means. Rather than telling Pietro to stop like a good lawyer, Steve responds by taking a sip of his drink.

Pietro doesn't speak, but out of the corner of Steve's eye he sees the smile on the younger man's face.

Before they leave the shop that afternoon Steve has Clint fix up two burgers to go so they don't have to worry about dinner. Of course he couldn’t handle relaxing for an entire day and had pulled out his laptop around ten that evening to draft up Clint”s contract. 

This time, when the whimpering starts, it’s one-thirty in the morning and Steve has not yet managed to pass out next to his work. 

Trying to ignore said whimpering for a solid ten minutes, in Steve’s opinion he takes a shot at being heartless. Finally, Steve grunts and shuts the page he's been pouring over. With a heave and a couple of pops, he pulls his exhausted body out of a tangle of legal documents and heads for the door.

Outside of Pietro’s room, Steve pauses to listen. He waits maybe thirty seconds before he goes into the room.

Once inside he walks to the edge of the bed. The younger man is turned away from him and shivering, only a corner of the blanket covering his body and the rest piled on the floor. The scene is eerily similar to the night before only now Steve’s aware that waking him will just put off the nightmare for a little longer...and possibly get him clocked in the meantime.

Steve scrubs a hand over his face, knowing this is a terrible idea in the pit of his stomach. The angel and devil most might feel on their shoulders in a moment like this are replaced by what feels to him like opportunity and selfishness. He casts a couple of glances around the room, as if his firm placed cameras in there to watch him, before he climbs into bed with Pietro. He settles himself against the pillow and wraps his arm around the man that’s quickly growing to rival his size. In that moment Pietro goes stock still and Steve knows he’s either woken up or reached another level in his nightmare. It seems to be the former when Pietro lifts his head to look up at Steve. His eyes are sleep blurred but oddly wide.

Steve keeps his voice pitched low when he speaks. “I’m pretty sure the only sleep you've gotten here might as well be interrupted naps,” he says, punctuating the statement with a little shrug. 

Pietro stares at him for a beat longer before he shifts up so his head is resting on Steve’s arm and curls into his side. “Will you pull the covers back up,” he grumbles into Steve’s chest. Steve thoughtlessly snags the corner still resting on Pietro’s hip and pulls the blanket up off the floor. Once it settles he takes stock of his position. Pietro is pressed to his side, skin warm and safe. Suddenly Steve feels very tired.

Waking up a couple hours later, Steve’s aware of two things; he’s achingly hard and there’s a solid warmth pushing back against his groin. Sleep-drunk and horny, Steve reaches out and wraps his fingers around a hip. He uses his grip to pull the warmth flush against him and grinds into it. It isn’t until Pietro snakes a hand between them and grabs Steve’s dick through his pajama pants that he realizes where he is and what he’s doing. Even then, it takes a few strokes over the cloth before Steve fully wraps his mind around the situation. 

Steve couldn’t have scrambled out of that bed any faster if it was on fire. His back slams against the wall, having forgotten what side of the room he’s on. Pietro sits up, rubbing the heel of one hand across his bare chest like perhaps Steve had smacked him on his exit. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t - I wasn’t thinking,” he says, tone so groggy Steve actually believes him.

Still, he shakes his head. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I knew that was a bad idea, just got confirmation is all,” he says, running a hand over his face. Pietro looks almost hurt at the words and Steve quickly rephrases, “Can’t trust myself.” The sentence gives too much away and Steve closes his eyes for a moment. _Shit_. He shakes his head. “Um...I have to go,” he says, not pausing until he’s left the guest room and is closing his own bedroom door.

This time instead of giving in, Steve takes a cold shower. It’s awful and uncomfortable and everything he deserves. But it would have made his life a lot easier if he’d just given in.

Because when he comes out of the bathroom, Pietro is sitting on his bed. 

He hasn't put a shirt on and he’s still been sleeping in Steve’s sweat pants.

_Fuck._

“Pete,” Steve can hear the warning in his voice. He’d come out of the bathroom in a towel thankfully, but that wasn't always the case.

Pietro licks his lips like he's going to say something. Steve wishes desperately that he'd just jerked off in the fucking shower.

“I have to get dressed,” Steve says quickly before Pietro can get a syllable out. “Been late for work a lot.” The words are so forced, so stiff, Steve has a hard time holding back a flinch after they come out of his mouth. 

Ducking into his closet, Steve flips on the light and closes the door. He gives himself a few minutes to breathe before getting dressed.

When Steve opens the door, now fully clothed, his bedroom is empty. Out in the apartment, the door to the guest room is closed.

Within an hour of arriving to work Tony attempts to send him home, stating he looks peaked and it’s disconcerting. That he must still be sick. Steve refuses, fear seizing his chest as he thinks of having to return home without proper time to prepare a strategy...

Four hours later Steve has fuck all in terms of strategy but he has expanded the entry in his mental thesaurus under “terrible”. So many people asked if he was okay he started to wonder if maybe he was sick. No. Definitely not sick. Just a -- 

“Gigantic pussy,” Clint says as he wipes down tables at the shop that afternoon after Steve drops by with his contract and accidentally explains exactly who he’s avoiding on his lunch break. He wanted to tell Bucky, but he can't seem to pile more on that plate these days. 

Steve arches an eyebrow. “Excuse me?” he says.

Clint shrugs, eyes not lifting from his task. “That kid made moon eyes at you the entire time you were here yesterday and you're trying to figure out his angle, man,” he says. “I think it’s bullshit. You're - “

“His lawyer,” Steve interrupts, tone firm. 

Clint’s mouth closes with a click and he nods, continuing to wiping down tables. 

Steve lets out a groan. “Fuck me,” he sighs through his teeth.

For just a moment Clint pauses to survey Steve. After that moment he shrugs, returning to his work. “Way I see it, you do what you do. I've done plenty of things behind closed doors that people said I couldn't do if they knew.” He smirks down at the tabletop, not saying any more. 

Steve snorts. “I can't tell if I find that charming or alarming.” 

Clint barks out a laugh of his own. “Maybe it’s a little bit of both. But what I know is every situation has it’s own set of rules. Things get worse when you forget that.” 

As disconcerting as it is to hear this advice, Steve can't deny that there’s more than a modicum of truth to it. 

Heading home from work that evening, Steve feels dread weighing down his stomach. The memory of Pietro grabbing him through his pants in the morning plays through Steve’s head yet again. Followed immediately by the memory of him springing away as if on fire. Steve doesn't think he's ever gotten ready for work so quickly.

Entering the building, Steve does his damndest to fight down Clint’s earlier words as he makes his way up to his apartment. The last thing he needs is someone telling him it’s okay to be thinking this way about his client. It was bad enough to have Tony modeling partner behavior for him in the worst way.

The smell hits Steve first and it takes him to the top of the stairs to realize it’s coming from his apartment. Pietro is opening the front door before Steve reaches it.

“Okay, before you get mad, I actually looked up a recipe this time,” he starts. Steve doesn't wait for Pietro to finish before he’s pushing past him into the apartment. Pietro trails behind him talking. “But -”

“How the fuck do you burn a tuna melt like that?” The kitchen still has a light layer of smoke in it and the empty can sits on the counter next to charred remains. “You’d have to leave it there.”

Pietro shifts back and forth. “I may or may not have forgotten about it,” he says quietly.

Running a hand down his face, Steve shakes his head slowly. “Of course you did,” he says. “Christ, Pietro.” Steve’s use of Pietro’s full first name seems to jar him. “You don't pay attention to a damn thing. I'm amazed you haven't gotten yourself killed. I swear it’s only a matter of time.”

As quickly as the rage comes, it’s gone. Steve’s hit full force with his words just before the front door slams shut. 

_Fuck._

When Pietro doesn't come back by ten that evening, Steve invokes the friend phonetree. Bruce hasn't spent much time out of the office but he’ll check with Natasha. Bucky says he isn't at the shop but he’ll tell Clint to keep an eye out.


	4. Weak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ducking out of the room, Pietro is back a moment later with his backpack. He digs through one of the front pockets as he walks. Making a noise of triumph, Pietro pulls the albuterol free and holds it out to Steve._
> 
> _Staring for a moment at the outstretched hand, Steve’s suddenly at a loss. With a small groan Pietro uncaps the rescue inhaler and puts it in Steve’s hand. “It’s only two months old,” he says in an effort to quell Steve’s safety concerns._
> 
> _As his airways restrict further Steve realizes he’s edging on being a bigoted piece of shit. He shakes the device before he puts it to his lips. Depressing the small canister, Steve inhales._
> 
> _The steroids hitting his body feel near immediate. Slowly his airways free as his lungs relax._
> 
> _Pietro watches Steve’s every movement with hard eyes. “I didn’t want this,” he finally says after Steve’s breathing has evened out._
> 
> _It’s almost amusing that Pietro knows exactly what brought that on. Almost._
> 
> _A snort prefaces Steve’s answer, unintentional but deserved all the same, “Well you got it.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I'm SO SORRY it's been so long since I posted a chapter. I've been applying for PhD programs for the last couple of months and things have been so gnarly. That being said, this is another half beta'd chapter that I will definitely post edits for when they come. Until then, I really hope you enjoy this messy update.

Staring down at the pair, Steve’s eyes are fixed on the way Clint’s arm curls around Pietro’s chest. The two are folded up on the couch in Bucky’s office, fully clothed but displaced all the same. Steve can feel Bucky watching him as he quietly opens the bar. Steve wants to sigh and ask Bucky for the strongest cup of coffee known to man. He wants to forget about it until the loud grinding of beans wake Clint and Pietro up.

Instead he stands and he stares, jaw clenching and unclenching as a heavy feeling builds low in his gut. 

It’s as if the power of his disapproval is palpable enough to shake Pietro awake. His eyes fly open in an instant, gaze jumping right to Steve. The feeling that had previously been building seems to seize Steve’s body almost painfully and for just a moment he’s frozen, watching Pietro’s face change as he realizes how his position must look.

“Steve,” says Pietro quietly. 

It’s enough to shake Steve out of his daze. He clears his throat and looks away, feeling a jolt as Clint begins to stir. “Put your shoes on, I’ll drive you back to the apartment,” he says, but even to his own ears his voice sounds commanding. Steve doesn’t wait for Pietro to respond, simply leaves the open doorway. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Pietro scrambling off the couch, clearly intent on following.

Bucky picks that moment to begin grinding a large batch of coffee beans. Steve gives him a grateful smile that Bucky returns with a knowing shrug. Because as loud as that grinder is at five in the morning, it’s a damn sight preferable to whatever Pietro might try to say to him. Pietro falters in the office doorway, the noise a fair deterrent apparently. After hesitating there for a moment Pietro goes back into the office, presumably to put on his shoes. Steve lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Both Pietro and Clint come out of the office a few minutes later. Steve’s clutching a to-go cup like it's the only thing keeping him standing. 

“You know, you're not actually supposed to sleep here,” Bucky says idly, directed at Clint.

Having the decency to look sheepish, Clint rubs the back of his neck. “Figured. Sorry about that,” he says. “We dozed off and when I woke up around midnight I realized I missed -” Clint’s sentence cuts off abruptly and he clears his throat. “My bus, I just fell back to sleep.”

Arching an eyebrow, Bucky shares a glance with Steve and he knows they’re thinking the same thing. Clint hasn't mentioned a bus yet and he’s closed both nights since he started. 

“Where are you, the boarding house over on 6th?” 

When those words come out of Bucky, Steve’s as surprised as Clint looks. “Yeah,” Clint says flatly.

In that instance it clicks for Steve that he saw Clint’s duffle in the office again. Probably couldn't leave it behind, someone would steal it.

Digging in his pockets, Bucky finds and pulls out his house keys. “3rd and Dunlap,” he says. “Building’s 344 and I'm 2C. One room has shit in it and one doesn’t. That’s the guest room. Be back for rush.”

It takes Clint a few moments to begin moving, eyes fixed on Bucky. When things finally kick in, he nods once. “You got it boss.” He swipes his duffle from inside the office door and makes a dive for the exit.

Steve stares at Bucky for a moment before shaking his head, remembering. “I almost forgot, you have his wallet. Thanks for the coffee,” he says, waving halfheartedly at Bucky. 

“Anytime, pal,” Bucky says, returning the wave with his left hand.

“Come on, Pete.” Steve doesn't wait for Pietro to acknowledge him before leaving the building.

“Nothing happened,” Pietro says quickly as soon as he catches up to Steve.

A small groan slips out. Steve scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay,” he sighs. 

This answer doesn't seem to satisfy Pietro. “We were talking and we-”

“Please just drop it,” Steve cuts him off. “It doesn't matter.” They reach his car then, Steve pulling open the driver's side door with emphasis.

Snapping his mouth closed, Pietro deflates. He walks around to the other side of the car and gets in. Steve braces a hand on the roof of the car and takes a deep breath before climbing in as well.

Once the drive begins, they manage about two minutes of silence before Pietro’s talking. “After I left the apartment I walked around for awhile. I didn’t mean to walk all the way to the shop but I guess I did,” he says. “Clint was closing and he invited me in, said I looked agitated. I must have fallen asleep on the couch because he woke me up and then I...guess we fell asleep again...” He trails off at the end, finishing his sentence lamely.

Having a difficult time suppressing a snort, Steve feels exhaustion taking over his body both from the early hour and the situation. “I think that’s the most you’ve said to me at once ever,” he says instead.

“I’m sorry.”

The words catch Steve off guard and he stiffens. “It’s fine. I’m just glad you’re safe.” _Shit. No it doesn’t matter. He’s -_

“I think I hurt you.” The words are blunt. No dancing around. They represent exactly what Steve sees in Pietro. 

They shoot through Steve with a shudder. “I'm fine,” he says impulsively, resisting the need to close his eyes against his annoyance at himself. Pietro is nothing if not observant. 

“I don't believe you.”

Tightening his grip on the steering wheel, Steve hardens his jaw. “That’s up to you, kid,” he bites out.

Any normal person would be deterred by Steve’s dismissive tone. His bitten off words. Not Pietro. He fastens onto every weakness he sees in Steve like a leech. Steve realizes the flaw immediately. “You can’t take it back, Steve.”

That sentence settles in Steve’s gut like fear and anxiety and driving much too fast down the road. The speedometer says twenty-five but Steve feels like he’s about to break ninety. “Please just drop it.” Even as he forms the words Steve’s heart pounds in his chest.

Pietro doesn't, even when Steve is climbing out of the car after he’s parked. Pietro follows and keeps on talking. "I don't want to drop it. I didn’t imagine this, you can’t act like I did," he says as they enter the apartment building.

Steve starts up the stairs, jaw hardening progressively. Pietro follows him closely. "Christ, Pete. I’m not saying you imagined anything, but you definitely didn’t see what you seem to think you saw. I’m betting there was mainly shock that Clint didn’t let me know you’d turned up. And exhaustion considering I had to drag myself out of bed at five in the morning to go get you. Just let it go," Steve sighs out, not sparing Pietro a glance.

"I _can't_ ," Pietro says, and the way his voice cracks at the end has Steve pausing on the stairs.

Steve shakes his head. "I'm not doing this." He wants to, dear god does he want to do _this_. 

"Why?" Pietro pushes, eyes boring holes in Steve's back.

Steve sighs and his next words come out little more than a whisper, "Your hearing is in two days. Come on, kid.”

Pietro follows when Steve begins walking again. As they walk Steve can hear Pietro behind him; his breathing, the way his presence dampens Steve’s usual echo in the hallway. They're halfway to the apartment door when Pietro speaks. "I can't sleep with you in the next room. I listen to your breathing and fight going in there," he says.

Turning abruptly, Steve advances but Pietro doesn't give him any ground. Just stands with his feet planted, so close and smelling like he does. "You want me so badly," Steve says, pointedly ignoring the younger man's mouth as he licks his lips. Steve shoves Pietro sideways then, against a wall of the hallway. He follows, pulling Pietro forward by his hoodie when he reaches him before shoving him back. Pietro's shoulders hit the plaster with a dull thud and Steve struggles against a wince. "Why didn’t you just reach right in my pants, then? We’ve spent plenty of time in the same bed. Hand around my dick for long enough, I probably wouldn't turn you down. We almost learned that the other morning. Why didn't you just make it easy on yourself?" Steve grounds out, hands beginning to shake with what he isn't entirely sure. 

Silently, Pietro stares at Steve. After some time Steve sighs and lets go of Pietro's hoodie. Pietro's words are quiet when he finally speaks. "I don't want to trick you. I want you to admit that you want me." 

The phrasing burrows low in Steve’s spine, honest and hopeful. 

As acidic as the sentiment feels, it beats at Steve’s ever weakening defenses. “Admit it?” He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth.

A small smile quirks Pietro’s lips. His phrasing is measured when he speaks, words carefully chosen. “When you look at me, _touch_ me, I don't feel useless or hideous or dirty. You -” Steve has completely frozen by this point, taken off guard by the sincerity. “You make me feel like someone precious. Someone worth looking at the way that you do.”

Steve completely caves and reaches out to tug those last couple of inches toward the younger man. When their mouths meet, first kiss damn near chased, Steve can feel it shoot down to his toes. 

The feeling must be mutual, because Pietro’s pupils are blown wide when the two separate for just a moment.

Lips and torsos collide and Pietro is pushing Steve back toward his apartment door. Which is fine. It's all fine. Steve gives. 

Just this once. Just _please_. 

Steve's body hits the door and for a moment he comes back to himself. _Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong_ bounces through his head and he pulls his lips away from Pietro with a gasp.

"I - " Steve starts but a hand reaches into his pocket and he cuts off abruptly. There's a jingle as his keys slide out. Steve drops his head back against the door while Pietro works on opening it. "This is such a bad idea," he mutters. But when the door swings open he lets Pietro push him through it, the younger man’s lips fastening to Steve’s collar bone.

Kicking the door closed behind them, Pietro doesn't pull away from Steve as he paws at his waist. They spin and Steve’s pressed back against the closed door again. This time Pietro drops to his knees, nose immediately nuzzling at the bulge already formed in Steve’s pants.

“Fucking Christ,” Steve groans, fingers sliding through Pietro’s hair. He wouldn’t say it’s been a long time since he had someone’s mouth on him, but that doesn't make it any less true.

The younger man has Steve’s pants unzipped and his cock out in no time. Pietro doesn't pause before he swallows Steve.

Eyes rolling back in his head, Steve does his best to grab onto anything tangible. Literally. His knees go weak. When his wits come back he has a white-knuckled grips on the doorknob as well as his hand still threaded in Pietro’s hair.

Opening his mouth to speak, Steve carefully considers what he wants to come out. When all he manages is, “Unnnn,” as Pietro brings a hand up to play with his balls, Steve promptly gives up hope of getting control of this situation. The thought solidifies when the hand massaging his balls spares a finger from that task to slip between his crack. The finger presses against his hole and Steve isn't sure if he’s loosening or tightening. In. _Oh_. 

The dry stretch isn't exactly comfortable, but something about Pietro with a finger _in_ him...

“Want,” Steve’s keening the words before he can stop himself. “Lube.” Pulling himself out of Pietro’s mouth takes herculean effort. Pietro whines as Steve stills his hands as well. “Up.”

Moving them into the bedroom, Steve locates said lube in the bedside table.

Pietro presses along Steve’s back and nips at his ear, “Wanna fuck me?”

Shaking his head, Steve pops the cap on the lube with one hand. “Won't last,” he says, squeezing some into his palm. “Come here.” Steve positions himself into the middle of the bed and motions toward Pietro. Responding immediately, Pietro crawls over Steve’s body.

Using his clean hand to open the button of Pietro’s jeans and pull down the zipper, Steve wastes no time reaching his hand through the slit in Pietro’s boxers to tug out his cock. Lining his dick up with Pietro's, Steve wraps a hand around them both. Pietro moans as soon as Steve’s grip settles and Steve almost comes right there. He jerks them off together. When Pietro comes he buries his face in Steve's neck, biting down on the cord of muscle at the top of his shoulder. The stimulation is just enough and Steve follows Pietro into his own orgasm.

Afterward they lay there, Pietro quickly losing grasp with consciousness. Steve gets him to slip off his soiled shirt and kicks his jeans to the floor. Steve wipes up any mess left with tissues he keeps next to the bed. For a moment he contemplates waking the younger man. But the moment quickly passes and before he knows it he’s shutting his eyes.

Steve wakes up a couple of hours later, thrown by the late angle of the sun through the window. More than that, for the first time in what feels like decades, he’s wrapped around someone and there’s skin as far as his eyes can see. The morning comes rushing back to him like a dream; not ethereal in quality but unimaginable in experience all the same.

It’s been quite a while since he let himself have something he wanted as badly as he wanted the younger man pressed against him. Still the guilt of it settles in his gut. There’s a reason this is a fireable offense. More importantly, there’s a reason it’s frowned upon in general.

But Pietro’s skin is warm and his hips shift to the right and Steve can feel himself getting hard. He suppresses a frustrated growl and can’t resist canting his hips forward a bit. Pietro presses back into him and Steve knows the hip shifting before wasn’t in sleep. He wants to be angry, to pull back and accuse the younger man of playing him again. 

Steve doesn’t do that. “Fuck it,” he mutters.

Steve slides a hand under Pietro’s body so he can grip his hips and grinds his erection into Pietro’s crack, just like he did two mornings before. Only this time Pietro lets loose a groan.

Steve is weak.

They separate far and long enough for Steve to find and slide on a condom. Then he’s back in bed with the bottle of lube from last night.

Pietro whines as Steve slips a finger inside of him. He tries to press himself back against Steve’s knuckles. But Steve moves his fingers with Pietro’s thrusts, only pressing in further when Pietro is still. Before long he’s adding a second finger, retracting the first slightly and not letting Pietro sink onto them. Steve works them in and out shallowly before he starts to scissor them apart and Pietro keens.

“Goddammit, Steve,” he begins, Romanian words and phrases tumbling out after.

Steve’s cock is achingly hard at the end of the utterances combined with the tight heat around his fingers. He slides them all the way into Pietro and the younger man growls low in his throat. Steve retracts them to add a third finger.

Pietro is shaking his head as he desperately squirms. “Just use a fuck ton of lube and your considerate instincts and get _inside_ of me,” he growls, voice low and thick. Steve ignores him at first, pressing all three in. Pietro groans again, “ _Please _.”__

__As if on autopilot, Steve does what Pietro says. He pulls his fingers out. Pietro whines again at the loss. Steve picks the bottle of lube up from where he dropped it on the bed and squeezes a fair amount into his palm. After he slicks himself up, Steve moves back behind Pietro, who’d been turned watching him._ _

__Steve lines himself up, hearing Pietro suck in a breath, and then he’s slowly pressing into heat and tight. Underneath Steve, Pietro squirms to adjust. It makes holding still that much more difficult._ _

__Shallowly thrusting in and out of Pietro is something akin to agonizing. Though, when Pietro works his hips back toward Steve clearly intent on more, that’s pretty damn satisfying. “You’re gonna drive me crazy,” Pietro bites out._ _

__With a groan, Steve leans down to plaster himself along Pietro’s back. “It’s been a while. You keep working yourself on my dick like that and I'm not gonna last,” Steve admits, voice a deep rumble along Pietro’s spine._ _

__In response, Pietro works himself back with renewed vigor, but now he grabs his own cock. Steve moans at the sight and slowly straightens, hands finding a hold on Pietro’s hips. Steve gives Pietro a large handful of the skin smacking thrusts he requested before, eyes blown wide. Steve feels Pietro clench around him and it gives Steve that last push._ _

__By the time Steve’s done emptying himself into the condom, Pietro has settled against the mattress with his ass in the air. He’s got the wrecked look of someone slightly overstimulated but blissfully happy and Steve feels it like warmth in his chest._ _

__Or was that the orgasm?_ _

__Shaking his head, Steve takes hold of the edge of the condom so he can pull out of Pietro. The younger man whines at the loss but otherwise slides back down onto the bed._ _

__Going into the bathroom to dispose of the condom, Steve comes out only to find himself caught in a stare seconds later. Pietro is laid across the bed on his stomach, his arms thrown to either side. The sheen Steve can see between Pietro's thighs reminds him and he ducks back into the bathroom to grab a washcloth._ _

__Sitting up on his elbows while Steve uses the dampened cloth to clean the lubricant from Pietro’s upper thighs and ass cheeks, Pietro sighs. “Careful,” he breaths out. As if to explain himself, he grinds down into the mattress._ _

__“To be 22,” Steve mutters._ _

__Rolling his eyes, Pietro flips over. On his back like that Steve can clearly see that Pietro hasn’t come yet. His mouth goes dry._ _

__“I’m sorry, Pete. Why didn’t you say anything?” To his own ears Steve sounds younger and less experienced than he has in years. He closes his eyes in embarrassment._ _

__Pietro lets loose a deep chuckle. “I wanted more.” The phrase is so simple._ _

__Opening his eyes again, Pietro has left Steve in the very precarious position of having to decide if he’s going to go down or up._ _

__Climbing over the younger man, Steve decides to indulge himself for a moment by fastening his lips to his favorite part of Pietro. His mouth is full and soft when he sighs contentedly against Steve’s._ _

__A voice at the back of Steve’s head that sounds a great deal like Natasha’s tells Steve to enjoy this for now because come Monday he’s going to be fucked in a significantly less pleasant way. Steve does his best to silence that voice by licking into Pietro’s mouth, slow and carefully._ _

__When Pietro grows insistently hard underneath him, canting his hips up into Steve’s for some kind of friction, Steve slides down his body without preamble and takes him into his mouth. Pietro comes with his fingers clenched in Steve’s hair and Steve’s name on his tongue.  
Punctuating the orgasm, as Steve moves up Pietro's body his stomach growls loudly. Pressing a kiss to Pietro’s lower ribs, Steve sits up._ _

__“We should eat,” he says. Then, arching an eyebrow at Pietro, “And you should shower.”_ _

__A blush takes over Pietro’s face but their morning hasn't softened his edges. “Would you prefer both at the same time or is one after the other sufficient?”_ _

__Steve rolls his eyes but otherwise doesn't give in to Pietro’s goading. “Why don't you shower while I make us something to eat, huh?” Impulsively Steve leans forward and catches Pietro’s lips in a kiss. Pulling back, Steve notices that his kiss has produced the opposite effect._ _

__Pietro’s eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth is turned down onto something dangerously close to a frown. His eyes are fixed to Steve’s face._ _

__A blush blooms over Steve’s cheeks quickly. “Sorry if that wasn't okay. I mean, _you_ still in my mouth -” Steve cuts off abruptly when Pietro rolls his eyes._ _

__“You could have spit it in mine for all I care,” he says and Steve’s sure his own embarrassment at this conversation shows renewed force across his face. Pietro ignores it. “I'm just confused. I don't -” Pietro cuts off, clearly unable to pinpoint what he wants to say. “You’re acting different,” he settles on finally._ _

__Staring at Pietro, Steve isn’t sure what to say. He thinks the only difference in his actions is the affection he can't seem to suppress._ _

__A single laugh pops from Steve’s lips as he realizes with a start why Pietro looks so uncomfortable. “It wasn't like I was drunk this morning. And you’re persuasive but not so persuasive I didn't know exactly what I was doing. Just -” Steve pauses, shifting back and forth. “Take an extra long shower so I can sort this in my head, please.”_ _

__Pietro doesn’t look at Steve. But he does nod before disappearing into the bathroom._ _

__With enough distance between Pietro’s ass and Steve’s dick, Steve thinks he stands a chance of forming a series of coherent thoughts that explain what the _fuck_ he is going to do._ _

__Steve doesn't. And he can't. His mind runs on a loop, cycling over every waking moment for the last five hours. He can’t make any sense of it. Well, he can but he doesn't like it._ _

__Compulsively checking around the corner to make sure Pietro hasn't come out of the shower, Steve waits impatiently for Bruce to pick up his phone._ _

__As if reading Steve’s mind, Bruce doesn't even bother with salutations when he answers, “Tell me you didn’t.”_ _

__Regardless of Bruce’s mind reading capabilities Steve finds himself answering on the offense as he pulls sandwich fixings from the refrigerator, “Hi Bruce, I'm doing well. Thanks for asking. I know I don't call much but -”_ _

__Bruce snorts into the phone. “You call me all the time and it’s always about that kid. Out with it.”_ _

__Steve sighs, “I did.”_ _

__“You’re going to get fired.”_ _

__“I know.”_ _

__“They almost fired Tony.”_ _

__“I know.”_ _

__“He’s a partner.”_ _

__“Bruce, I know.” Steve heaves out a heavy breath. “I don't know what got into me,” he says, perching his phone between his cheek and his shoulder as he starts to make himself and Pietro some lunch. “After Bucky found him lying there with Clint -”_ _

__“Excuse me?” Bruce interrupts._ _

__Pausing in this motions to take a deep breath, Steve chuckles. “It’s been a busy couple of days,” he says by way of explanation._ _

__Steve agrees to meet up with Bruce later that week for coffee. He tells Bruce he has to go and hangs up just as the door to the bathroom in the hall opens._ _

__As short as the conversation was, it did a helpful thing in reminding Steve exactly what he’s facing. His firm does not mess around._ _

__But as Pietro crosses into his kitchen, shirtless with a different set of Steve’s sweatpants slung low on his hips, Steve doesn't care again. Without preamble he walks away from the half-made sandwiches and presses Pietro against the opposite wall._ _

__The noise Pietro makes at Steve’s actions goes from surprised to pleased in moments, arms settling around him. Steve may not have been inebriated in the strictest sense this morning but he was certainly intoxicated all the same._ _

__Lips fasten to Pietro’s collarbone, teeth scraping lightly over the skin stretched tight across the bone._ _

__In a moment of stark clarity, Steve pulls his mouth away and rests his forehead against said collar bone. Pietro doesn't saying anything, barely moves a muscles as Steve breathes him in._ _

__The words aren't verbalized, but Steve drags them against Pietro’s skin recklessly all the same. _’I’m so fucked.’__ _

__By noon Steve has kissed damn near every square inch of the younger man. He’s licked and sucked his way across Pietro’s skin and found a sampling of sounds to choose from._ _

__For his part, Pietro is gasping like a fish out of water. Probably because Steve is between his legs with a tongue in his ass. “Please. I -” Pietro cuts himself off, keening. Back arching off the bed, it seems Pietro can't stop moving around. Steve only has enough time to wrap his hand around Pietro’s dick and stroke once before he’s coming with a loud groan._ _

__Stroking Pietro through his orgasm, Steve does his damnedest to keep his free hand out of his own boxers._ _

__Pietro blows Steve at the side of the bed, seemingly heedless of the mess on his stomach. Steve all but collapses down onto the bed afterward, his knees displaying the distinct inability to keep him upright. Standing, Pietro heads for the bathroom. The door closes with a soft click._ _

__After Pietro is gone, skin disconnected from skin, Steve’s mind starts it's familiar trek down his five year plan of failure. Closing his eyes, Steve takes a few deep breaths. They don't help and they shake as they come out of him._ _

__A faint ‘hmmm’ comes from the direction of the bathroom and Steve’s chest tightens. Dragging his eyelids apart, Pietro seems contemplative when Steve meets his gaze._ _

__“Your hands are shaking.” Pietro’s tone is so calm it takes Steve a moment to look down. His hands are, in fact, shaking._ _

__“Well I'll be damned.” But Steve doesn't sound surprised, and he isn't. What he does find surprising is the way his chest starts to constrict with each fresh breath after that sentence. It’s been so long since Steve's had one it takes a moment to realize he’s having an asthma attack._ _

__When Steve’s air intake makes the full transition to shallow understanding settles in Pietro’s eyes. “Where’s your inhaler?” he asks, already moving toward the bedside table._ _

__Steve sits up straight, attempting to maximize the space in his lungs to little avail. “I don't know,” he says, working to calm his breathing and heart. “Haven't had an asthma attack in years,” he adds, though he honestly can't remember if Pietro knows anything about Bucky’s accident. Whether he does or not, Pietro nods and it occurs to Steve that it doesn't really matter._ _

__Ducking out of the room, Pietro is back a moment later with his backpack. He digs through one of the front pockets as he walks. Making a noise of triumph, Pietro pulls the albuterol free and holds it out to Steve._ _

__Staring for a moment at the outstretched hand, Steve’s suddenly at a loss. With a small groan Pietro uncaps the rescue inhaler and puts it in Steve’s hand. “It’s only two months old,” he says in an effort to quell Steve’s safety concerns._ _

__As his airways restrict further Steve realizes he’s edging on being a bigoted piece of shit. He shakes the device before he puts it to his lips. Depressing the small canister, Steve inhales._ _

__The steroids hitting his body feel near immediate. Slowly his airways free as his lungs relax._ _

__Pietro watches Steve’s every movement with hard eyes. “I didn’t want this,” he finally says after Steve’s breathing has evened out._ _

__It’s almost amusing that Pietro knows exactly what brought that on. Almost._ _

__A snort prefaces Steve’s answer, unintentional but deserved all the same, “Well you got it.”_ _

__Sitting down on the bed next to Steve, both men take a moment to breath. Slowly Pietro turns to search Steve's face. For several beats he looks confused in a way that is very comforting to Steve._ _

__Pietro must discern what he’s looking for because the comforting gaze quickly begins to make way for one that's more examining. As if solving a rubik's cube, Pietro studies each shift in Steve's face like he's waiting for the next matching row to slot into place. Before long an expression akin to realization takes over Pietro's features and he brings hands up to cup Steve's neck._ _

__The uneasiness of the moment becomes damn near oppressive to Steve as he tries to look away. With Pietro's hands on his neck and fingers at the base of his skull, he has difficulty._ _

__“I thought it was - that even if it seemed like more, it wasn’t anything but...” Pietro's eyes dart down and Steve feels that blush like frustration this time._ _

__“Fucking?” The word is more bitter than it should sound coming from Steve’s mouth considering the situation. He clears his throat, attempting to break the serious moment he created as he looks around the room. But he can’t move past one thought. “Um, you said you saw how I look at you…” he trails off, unsure of where he’s going with the sentence. Because Pietro’s kind of hung his hat on that one._ _

__Neither of them moves, Pietro’s hands remaining on the sides of Steve’s neck._ _

__Just when Steve doesn’t think he can take it any longer, the younger man speaks. “I do. And I think you don’t look at anyone else like you look at me, not really…” Pietro trails off in a similar way to Steve just moments before only Pietro doesn’t appear to be done speaking. “But, why?” He asks. A furrowed brow and frown have settled on his face._ _

__A wrenching flutters fills Steve's chest as he takes in Pietro's genuine confusion. He doesn't know what to say for a few beats too long._ _

__Pietro’s arms start to wilt, his hands loosening their grip. He flinches in surprise when Steve’s hands come up to mirror his position, but otherwise stop his own movements._ _

__“You’re smart,” Steve rasps out quickly, his internal dialogue _screaming_ at him not to enumerate this kid’s qualities on his fingertips. “You’re fucking smart.” Clearly Steve isn't listening. “Being around you makes me relax more than it makes me tense, which is comical with the stress you put me through.” Pietro has completely frozen by this point. “And you’re so damn beautiful.” Steve hisses the last sentence through gritted teeth. _ _

__Pietro’s skin is actually vibrating when he closes the few inches to kiss Steve._ _

__It isn't harsh or hurried and there’s no animalistic quality to it. In fact, maybe Pietro isn't vibrating so much as shaking. Steve runs a hand, fingers spread wide, down Pietro’s back to end at the base of his spine and _there’s_ that shiver. _ _

__“ _Oh_ ,” Steve breathes into the younger man’s mouth, realizing with startling clarity that Pietro might have a little more difficulty choosing his words._ _

__It doesn't matter. Pietro makes himself clear when he chases Steve’s mouth as he tries to pull away. He stays close but doesn’t attempt to shed a single layer. Steve feels the action, or lack thereof, with warmth in his gut every time Pietro doesn't let him pull back._ _

__It’s incredibly terrifying and ridiculously enticing at the same time in its quasi-innocence._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, this is in the process of being beta'd but please feel free to make any concrit. :-D


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